Willingly Taken
by The cursed child
Summary: Rachel will hopefully be turning herself in tomorrow, but Miles and Bass first encounter one factor that will change their plan drastically; Little Charlie Matheson.
1. Chapter 1

Bass and Miles had finally gotten word that the Mathesons are hiding in a village just outside of Chicago. They'd mounted their horses, selected five of their most trusted soldiers, and personally went to get them.

The warrant for Ben has been out for four years now, since they started the Republic and got the man-power needed to manually search every town in the neighbourhood of the former Matheson residence. Bass is focused on finding Ben, but Miles knows better. He knows Rachel better.

The oldest female Matheson has until tomorrow to meet them here, as instructed by the letter he sent ahead. It's her or Ben. They'll stop hunting the others, her children, down if she turns herself in.

The group of seven quickly and professionally set up camp by the river, maybe half an hour away from their destination. They've travelled non-stop for days, and they want to be rested for any unpleasant surprises the visit might bring, considering who they're up against.

Miles and Bass walk away from the tents, following the river to get closer to the town and further away from prying ears. Their purpose is still hidden from their soldiers, who simply think they'll be reuniting with long-lost family. Ben's involvement in the Blackout is a major secret, and they intend to keep it that way.

They're quietly discussing the 'what if's', should they get the power back. Georgia is snapping at their heels, their collected assortment of war machines greater in numbers, though fewer people familiar with how to use them.

In the new world, somebody will have to lead. Democracy hadn't worked, had tumbled humanity as a species into a down-ward spiral with no end in sight. Now, the smartest, the healthiest, the strongest have survived, evolution doing its work when nobody asked for it.

Bass stops half-way through his sentence about a way to localise the return of electricity to their Republic when they hear the sobs. The sound is muffled and distant, but the generals are nothing if not vigilant. They draw their swords and approach the noise.

These days cries in the middle of the forest are usually people being attacked, and it's not hard to tell that their possible victim is female, which almost certainly makes her attackers male. The strange thing is that assailants aren't usually quiet, which makes them extra weary.

Bass and Miles find a twelve-year-old girl crying by the river, her arms wrapped around her knees. There's nobody in the vicinity, and the closest town is the one they will be going to tomorrow, at least an hour's walk with her tiny legs.

Using a little girl as bait seems a little excessive, but Miles remains alert as Bass sheaths his blades. The sound of metal dragging across leather is enough to make the child look up, her vision impaired by tears.

She rubs her fists across her eyes, staring at the imposing man in a Monroe Militia uniform. She doesn't even see Miles yet, Bass blocking her vision of the second general. "Who are you?" she asks like he hasn't found her crying. She's defiant and hides every traces of her weakness she can, her red and puffy eyes almost unnoticeable as she glares at the president.

"I'm general Monroe," he says, looking imposing and every bit the leader he is. Seeing that she is not impressed, her derisive snort clearly audible, he crouches down to her height, where she is leaning on one knee, ready to run off at any moment. He sees the glint of metal in her hand just in time.

He grabs her wrist, still careful not to hurt her when she is just a child, and presses down with his thumb, her fingers spreading out and the knife dropping to the ground. He lets go and she shakes her wrist to relieve the pain of her pressure point, considering hitting mister haughty general in the face while she's at it.

"Almost killed by a ten-year-old," Miles laughs, "Shame on you, Bass."

The girl startles and stands up fully, looking at the other man, her actual age and an insult on her tongue, when she suddenly smiles brighter than anything either general has ever seen and sprints to Miles.

"Uncle Miles," she exclaims loudly, wrapping her arms around his waist, only barely avoiding the sharp edge of the sword. The man in question lets his weapon clatter to the ground and frowns before understanding dawns on his features.

"Charlie?" he half asks, hesitantly embracing the little girl who has to be his niece. He almost can't understand how he missed the resemblance in the first place, knowing that she had to be around here somewhere with Ben and Rachel.

Charlie nods into his chest, arms tightening. Miles has one hand on her back, the other stroking her hair. She practically purrs against his chest, and he can't believe she's here, that she's real.

"Charlotte Matheson," Bass speaks from just a foot away, unable to believe his own eyes. The disbelieve is clear in his voice, and Miles' niece turns around in his arms, entwined hands keeping him close, as she sneers at the president. "My name is Charlie," she enunciates clearly, dangerous like a kitten.

"Definitely your niece, Miles," Bass grins. Little Charlotte might be a kitten now, but in a few years, under the right circumstances, she'll be the fiercest lioness he has or will ever come across. Charlie seems to take the words as a compliment, straining her neck to look up and backwards with bright blue eyes.

"I've missed you," she admits, finally stepping away and facing both generals. She's holding one of Miles' hands between her own, sincerity dripping from every word. Rachel and Ben have been so focused on Danny lately, that she has been left on her own much more. They moved again just a month ago, running from something her parents refuse to explain, and it is nice to finally see a familiar face again.

"What are you doing all the way out here, kid?" Miles asks gently, basking in the warmth of her hands. His free one feels freezing in comparison, so he hides it away in the woolen material of his uniform coat pocket.

"Mom and I had a fight," she shrugs, like it is an every-day occurrence. Something about the way she says it makes it clear that she and Rachel argue often.

"About what?" Bass injects himself into the conversation, fascinated by this little spitfire of a girl. She looks at him again for the first time since she spotted Miles. Knowing that he is her uncle's friend immediately warms her up to general Monroe.

"We are moving again," she says. Charlie knows it's a secret, but surely she can tell her uncle. He's family after all. "It's not like I want to stay here of all places, but this is the third time this year!" she rants, glad to finally have somebody that listens to her. "I hate them," she murmurs, arms crossing and lower lip sticking out in a pout.

"You don't mean that," Miles is quick to rebuke, even though he has no way of knowing.

"I do," she protests, stomping her foot on the ground. It looks childish, but she sounds a lot more serious than any pre-teen has a right to be. "Everything is always about Danny. Mom ignores me all the time, and dad locks himself in his room and doesn't come out ever."

Miles, more familiar with the family dynamics than he should be, can see what she described clear as day. Ben would be laden with guilt, unable to face his wife and children with the knowledge of the many deaths on his conscience. His marriage to Rachel, mostly because of Miles, has been falling apart for over a decade, and of course she would put her complete focus on only one child, her obsessive and semi-sociopathic nature not allowing room to love a second one.

Today, she hates her brother, is jealous of him and neglected because of him. If she manages to survive just a few more years, her protective nature, the only family trait to be proud of, will make her the best guardian angel Danny could ever hope to have.

The generals exchange a glance. "You could come and stay with me for a while," Miles offers to his own surprise. "I live in Philly, have done so for a few years now. " It's emotion getting the better of him, but Bass doesn't protest.

The president knows that if they take Charlie, her parents have no choice but to come and get her. They'll have home-field advantage and enough soldiers to keep everybody alive. There's a lower possibility of casualties, and Miles might even convince his family to stay. It's a fantasy, but a good one. Kidnapping Miles' willing niece is hardly the worst crime in the world today.

"You mean that?" Charlie asks with her eyes wide, looking back and forth. She subconsciously gets that she needs the permission of both of them to make this slowly forming dream into reality.

"Yes," the generals say in unison.


	2. Chapter 2

It isn't Charlie's first time sleeping in a tent. Her mom and dad had been surprisingly prepared for the blackout, most necessities packed like they would've been going on a camping trip otherwise.

Miles doesn't sleep at all. He stands guard over his niece, exhausted from his travels, but mind whirring so loudly that rest escapes him. The other men had known better than to remark on the presence of the little girl, and simply dragged themselves onto their cots when Miles mentioned he'd take first shift.

Giving his tent to Charlie means Bass doesn't have a bed either, as the generals always share theirs. It makes him grumpy, but he places himself on the hard ground by the fire without complaint. None of their soldiers offers to give theirs up either, but only because they haven't gotten the message that their president has been kicked out of his bed by the twelve-year-old Matheson.

What's left of the night passes quickly. Dawn, and with it Rachel's deadline, has arrived by the time everyone wakes up. "Anything you need back home, kid?" Miles asks as she rubs her fists into her eyes. Charlie shakes her head in response. She twists to her side and draws a tiny stack of postcards from the huge pocket on the front of her warm sweater. She trustingly hands them to her uncle, who flips through them.

They mean nothing, just a collection she's been amassing like people used to do with stamps and coins. Miles gathers that this is her most prized possession, and he curses. Even he knows that kids her age should have a favourite stuffed animal or something. He sees them in Philly, dragging the dirty and old things behind them like they don't care, but never ever letting go of the beasts with a love that goes unrivaled.

"Oh," Charlie perks up, and quickly starts on putting on and tying her shoes. "I have something to show you," she grins, and shoots out of the tent like a lightning bolt. Just to run straight into the president.

Bass stumbles back but keeps his balance, only just stopping himself from falling backwards into the fire. He catches Charlie before she goes down as well, trying to catch his breath, which she knocked out of him quite literally. "Sorry, general Monroe," Charlie mocks with a fairly bad imitation of Bass' introduction yesterday, haughty and condescending.

She darts out of his grip and around his body, running to the spot they found her yesterday. Miles hurries to keep her in his line of sight, Bass following because leaving Miles alone and exposed is dangerous.

Though Charlie is going as fast as she can, the men can keep up with her with a jog, their longer legs closing the distance. The little Matheson is climbing over some rocks, careful so she won't slip. She walks confidently like she knows exactly where to put her feet as she slides over the slippery surfaces.

Miles is simply watching her with a frown above his brow, more curious at what she's doing that scared she will lose her balance and get dragged away by the river. "What are you doing, Charlotte?" Bass questions, keeping an eye on their surroundings. Miles is jumping in after her if she does land in the water, he thinks maliciously.

She turns around and glares at him for the full name, just like he expected, and petulantly doesn't answer. Instead, she takes another risky step and bends over, shoving a rock aside and proudly lifting a high quality crossbow for their inspection.

The way back is quicker, and she jumps the last three feet back to the generals, the weapon resting comfortably on her arm, which is almost long enough to be a perfect fit. "I found it at an abandoned hunting cabin we stayed at a few weeks ago," she says quickly before either of them accuse her of stealing. Frankly, the generals had been more worried that she'd looted it from a dead body, and are relieved the explanation is more or less innocent. "Mom and dad would take it away from me, so I hid it here with the arrows." She kicks aside a rock with some trouble and reveals a filled quiver.

"You know how to use it?" Bass teases, unsurprised to see Miles' niece so comfortable with a weapon. Charlie smirks, looking exactly like her uncle, and loads her crossbow. She heard the challenge, and accepts gladly.

Miles sighs, because he should've seen this coming. Then he realizes that he should probably be taking away the deadly weapon from her, or something. He watches her handle the crossbow with skill far beyond his own, and mentally shrugs. This is nothing she hasn't done before, and most likely figured out all by herself with nobody around to stop her.

"Rabbit." Bass and Miles look to the side, where she is pointing her arrow, just a second before she shoots. Neither of them even see the animal before it dies, Charlie's keen eye spotting the beast in seconds where the generals can't.

The shot goes straight through its side. Normally the eye would be best, but the men are surprised she even hit the rabbit from a hundred yards or so.

Charlie Matheson is not squeamish either, walking with quick strides and picking her prey up, drawing the arrow out with a wet plop. "Mom thinks her snares actually work," Charlie snorts derisively.

They talk on the short way back, getting more details about her experience with the crossbow. It's Charlie's task to check the snares her mother set up when they temporarily settled here. She hunts instead, rabbits and squirrels mostly. The little Matheson uses the absolute minimum of words during her story, sounding more like she is giving a report than telling a tale.

"Fresh meat," Miles grunts to their men, who have been tearing down the tents, only the fire left burning. The soldiers cheer and thank him, a former SEAL moving to skin the rabbit.

"Thank her," Miles nods to his niece, a hint of pride in his tone. They think he is joking, and let the matter go, finishing up their task. The oldest Matheson stalls as long as he can, hoping that Rachel will still show even though she is late.

He wants to think the best of her, that she hasn't shown because she is looking for Charlie, but when he asks, his niece tells him that she stays out quite often, and that the search party will only start at dinner at the earliest.

Bass writes a ransom note, which a soldier will deliver while the others head back to Philly. Miles helps Charlie onto his horse before taking a seat behind her on the saddle.

Charlie looks in the faint direction of her town, the fact that she's allowed to leave still not hitting her. Miles and Bass are talking about the trip, which should be quick as all of them have a horse. The details escape her as her focus shifts.

She spots the locks of golden hair, so like her own, in the distance. Her mom is hidden in the bushes, her eyes wide and her focus shifting between the generals and her daughter. Charlie meets her eyes.

Rachel doesn't move, doesn't call out, just stands there and watches her daughter leave with the uniformed men, resting against Miles' chest.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N So I attempted to write Rachel, a challenge all by itself, because I never got a grip on her character beyond 'hypocritical'. I could actually like her (and her story) if she didn't keep pretending she was better than everybody else *cough* Miles, Charlie, Bass *cough*. I just wanted to get this almost Canon-y compliant-y Rachel POV out of my head, because I needed to attempt to explain how a mom could abandon her child like that (did I succeed?)**

Rachel gets the note from a stranger while she's working on the town's administration. He walks in, drops the paper, and gets out before she can get a word in. Frankly, she only notices the guy when he's already closing the door behind him.

When she opens the note, she has no idea what to expect. The wax seal of the Monroe Republic doesn't grace the paper like it should have, nor is there handwriting on the outside that she could have recognized to warn her of the contents.

Miles' chicken scratch greets her, and her fear sets in. He's found her, and he's coming. His words few and to the point. She has until dawn to greet him outside the town, otherwise he and Bass will take her, her husband and the children.

She and Ben have been so careful, moving every few months, staying on the outskirts of the Republic and avoiding their own last names as much as possible. Charlie resents them for it, and Danny always gets sick when they travel to their next house, sometimes remaining weak for days or even a month.

Rachel wonders what Miles is like now. She has the newspaper clippings about her former lover and Bass' rise to power bound in this office, which is unofficially hers. It starts with the massacre of a camp, whose supplies had fed, bred and strengthened its neighbour, which would grow into an army base and move into Philly only months later.

Every article after that has the Monroe emblem in the right upper corner, propaganda mostly, but a vague pattern of their location and plans hidden in the subtext. Miles still looks handsome, even more so now that he stands up straight and proud and sober.

She crumples the note in her hand, reminding herself of Ben and the children and casting out the disloyalty and her deepest, darkest desires. They have to get out now. Maybe if they can leave by nightfall, the Mathesons have a chance to remain uncaged.

Rachel races home to find Ben in his office, the door locked, Danny drawing on the dining room table, and Charlie nowhere to be found. She knocks on the closed door, the urgency practically forcing her husband to open it. "He found us," she whispers urgently, moving inside and shutting the door behind her. "Miles and his lapdogs are on their way, we have to get out."

As she says the words, she already knows they're not going to make it. The children slow them down immensely, and there are no horses available, even if they had the money. Rachel is going to have to walk into her cage and she is going to do it willingly. "We won't make it," Ben confirms, his sigh loud and his shoulders hunched, like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. It's the only thing they share these days, the only thing they have in common. But Rachel still stands tall, because the only other option is a catatonic state she will never leave again.

"I'll start packing," he says, grabbing the duffels with frightening familiarity while Rachel goes to Danny. Only to find Charlie in the hallway, arms crossed and tears streaming down her face. "I want to stay," she says, her wet eyes staring at Rachel with Miles' determination.

"We can't, Charlie," her mom sighs, crouching down to her daughter's eye-height and reaching out. Charlie steps back, and Rachel draws her hand back, hurt. The girl is so resentful, always secluding herself, gone for hours at the time, sometimes even nights pass without a sign from her. Rachel guiltily wonders if Charlie would've been different if the power was still on.

"Why are we running from uncle Miles?" her daughter asks out of nowhere, and Rachel resents her husband's brother with all her might. Even years later, with only the faintest memories of her uncle, Charlie still loves Him more than she loves her mom, or even her dad. If only the girl knew what Miles had become, what he had done, the blood he had shed.

Rachel stays silent. Charlie always knows when Rachel tries to trick her, but she knows she can't tell her the truth, can't explain. If anybody ever finds out what the Mathesons know, they will be hunted by every soldier of every Republic and any stranger, friend and enemy will turn them in whole-heartedly. Even with Ben, they never say it out loud, afraid someone will hear.

"I'll just ask him, then," Charlie says, tears gone, frustration gone, just an edge of irritation left in her voice, and for just a moment, she sounds like a cool, rational adult, and then she's gone.

Rachel gives her the time to cool off, sure her daughter will be back soon. Meanwhile, she packs the children's packs, and leaves her own stuff lying around. She has never been all that materialistic anyway, and wherever Miles and Bass are putting her, she doubts it will be pleasant. Or maybe, just maybe, she can convince Miles to give her more, but even that will take time.

Charlie doesn't come back.

Ben and Danny wait, packed and ready, all night. The moment she gets back, they will be gone. Her husband hasn't even remarked on her lack of bags, probably hasn't noticed yet, or thinks her things are in with the children's.

"I'll get supplies," she lies to Ben, knowing that despite their differences, he will never let her go in his place, and definitely not to her brother, "You wait for Charlie and get to the next town over. I'll meet you guys there." She won't, but Ben is smart enough to figure that out eventually and not wait.

Rachel sets out, a more or less dutiful kiss for her husband and a true goodbye for Danny. Suspicion dawns in Ben's eyes, but he stays silent. She knows suddenly that alone, he will force himself to get better, to get out of his room and raise the children in a way he hasn't before. Maybe he will get through to their daughter again, like he did before the blackout.

Rachel knows she is late, but is aware that Miles will wait for her. He gave Ben and the children a chance to escape, and she is grateful for that. He will stall as long as he can to give his brother a head-start.

She hears the horses long before she hears the soldiers, who move with such grace that they barely make a sound. They're already packing, and Rachel sighs in relief. She's just in time.

When she actually manages to get close enough to observe the scene, her breath stocks and her feet attach themselves to the ground. She feels frozen, unable to move or speak.

Charlie found him.

She is sitting in front of Miles on his horse, relaxed and with a smile on her face, her weight resting against Miles' chest. There is a crossbow resting on her arm, one that Rachel recognizes as the one that disappeared from a cabin they had been staying a few weeks ago. Charlie had taken it.

Her eyes keep switching between her daughter and Miles until Charlie meets her gaze.

Rachel should be running, calling out, turn herself in and beg the generals to let her daughter go, but she doesn't. Alone, she could have kept her secrets, but Miles has gotten hands on leverage, and therefor everything she knows about the Blackout.

If he and Bass know, they'll turn the power back on, and Danny will die.

She has to trust that Miles will never harm his niece as long as he can't take advantage of her parents as the result. The only thing she can do now is stay away as far from Philly as she, Ben and Danny possibly can.

The only thing she can do is to keep the connection between blue and blue for as long as possible and not move a muscle.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Thank you guys for all the encouraging words, this Fandom remains my favourite. Enjoy!**

Charlie takes to Philly like a fish takes to water. She's a bright child, much like her genius parents, though far less scientific. She's hardly a social butterfly, but she isn't shy either, which helps her make her way into groups of friends that are a decade old.

Still, she chooses to spend most of her time either alone or with her uncle, and by association, with Bass. The men share a suite, one sitting room and two bedrooms, mostly for security purposes, but also because they don't know any better. It's a reassurance to know that they have the other near, to know that at least somebody from Before is still around alive and safe.

Charlie spends her nights on the pull-out couch, a nifty invention that's actually present for no reason at all. They've never had visitors in their rooms, Independence Hall largely unused and therefor always guest rooms aplenty. She seems to enjoy it, and hasn't complained once. It's the easiest parenting Miles will ever be privy to.

It's strange to have a child around. Charlie is not difficult at all, and often roams the city without any regard for Miles' increasing stress-levels. She sneaks out, armed with her crossbow, exploring for hours. Nobody knows who she is exactly, and Philly is relatively safe, especially compared to the woods behind the several towns she's lived.

Her uncle sets her one rule, and that is a curfew. He threatens to send every soldier in the city after her if she isn't home in time, and he is surprised that Charlie hasn't even tried to break it in the week she's been with him. His niece seems half-surprised that he cares enough to want her home, but still mostly respects and trust her enough to leave her unsupervised.

Miles is not a parent, he has no patience or skill with children, and never has. Charlie loves him so much that it makes him sick to his stomach, convinced that he doesn't deserve the bright smile she throws him.

Bass, who raised his two baby sisters while his parents were at work, who used to hold babies confidently (before he lost his own), and who prefers talking to the children of high-ranked officers over said officers during mandatory parties, can't seem to win Charlie over at all.

Miles' niece snorts and smirks, glares and scowls and mocks the president, but doesn't seem to be in any hurry to start liking him. So Bass throws his usual charms out of the window and gives back as good as he can. It's an endless source of amusement for his best friend, who watches from his chair with a bottle of whiskey and a grin almost permanently etched on his features.

Charlie meets every challenge head-on. In her first days she's shot arrows at every suggested target, and practices if she doesn't do so perfectly. She climbs the fences meant to keep her in, attends training exercises with soldiers twice her height and trice her weight, eavesdrops on meetings and tries to snoop her way through reports and files that she has no business seeing.

Miles is content to let her do it, doesn't exactly see the problem. Or he simply knows that punishing her isn't going to help. Bass hasn't learned that particular lesson yet, and spends his free hours thinking up suitable chores for a twelve-year-old Matheson.

His attempts are less than successful. Endurance training was his first choice, and resulted in Charlie waking him and Miles every day at five thirty to attend even when she only had to go once. Helping in the Archery was a good one, until he learned from her minder that she'd enjoyed learning how to make arrows and would be coming back every Tuesday after training. Breakfast and Dinner Duty were a disaster. Whomever had left the girl in charge of the meals had overestimated her ability to cook. A good eighteen people had gone to the infirmary with food poisoning.

Charlie had caused quite a wreckage in only a week, and Bass shudders when he thinks of her upcoming teenage years, though he holds a faint hope that growing up will decrease the amount of stunts. Optimism isn't really his strong suit. He remembers all too well what he and Miles had gotten up to at that age, and they'd wasted hours of marauding behind the television and their computers.

"Miles!" they both hear from the sitting room, Charlie storming into the suite just after her voice reaches them, skidding to a halt in front of her uncle, entirely ignoring Bass as she usually does. "Guess what," she grins, jumping up on the arm rest and planting her feet in her uncle's lap, resting against his side, his arm keeping her balanced on her perch.

"What?" Miles grunts, his brow raised and putting his glass down on the side table before the expensive liquid spills. They aren't in the best of moods; a War Clan near the western border has intercepted a shipment from California, and of the fifty soldiers they started with, half hasn't made it home, though they did retrieve the stolen goods and wiped out the perpetrators.

"I finished the barbed wire obstacle first," she tells him proudly, glancing at Bass to make sure he got the message as well before she continues. It's not all that surprising, Charlie can crawl beneath the wire where the others have to keep their chest on the ground or get stuck. Still, the feat is not entirely achieved without skill.

"Apparently," Bass interrupts before Miles can respond, "We need to up standard training again," he says with a significant look at Miles, who is unofficially in charge of the Military on goings of the Monroe Republic.

"On it," Miles says, nudging Charlie to stop her from staring at Bass, unsure if he just complimented her or insulted his troops. When it comes to verbal sparring, a lot still goes over her head.

"Speaking off," Bass goes on with a nod of acknowledgement at his best friend, "We have two schools in walking distance," never mind that Charlie walks from one side of Philly to the other almost daily, and has access to four times that amount of schools at least, "Have you given it any thought?"

The question is aimed at both of them, Bass familiar enough with Mathesons to know that Charlie will do the opposite of what they say if they don't take her choice into account. "No," the girl says adamantly, ready for this argument. They shouldn't have given her the time to think up a defence.

They haven't heard a word from Rachel or Ben, who disappeared from the town with Danny and seemingly left Charlie alone in the woods to find her way back to an empty home. Bass seems resigned to the lost opportunity, and the search for his brother continues, but Miles doubts they will ever find him or Rachel again. Charlie hasn't asked for them yet.

For now, it seems like she will be staying for quite some time, and therefore, school. Bass, the straight A student and Valedictorian of their graduation class is convinced she needs to go. Miles is less certain, knows she has been home-schooled by Rachel for years and has read more books than her peers combined.

Her writing is passable, he has seen it, and her math is advanced enough that he doesn't see any reason to put adventurous Charlie in a chair for hours at the time and bore her to death because the educational system has only worsened with the Blackout.

She's better of spending a month reading Sun Tzu's Art of War, the well-read copy within reach even now. All she has to know are the things she can only learn in the streets and woods; survival training, war strategy, close combat and long distance shooting. Charlie is a fighter and a leader, Miles doesn't doubt that. It will be easy to convince Bass of that.

He grabs the book on war strategies, his and Bass' favourite, and hands it to his niece. "One month," he says as strictly as he can, the general shining through in his voice. Charlie hugs him and tears out of the room before either man can change his mind.


	5. Chapter 5

Charlie has gotten on all right without parental supervision for a few years now. She knows how to hunt, she knows which plants are edible. She can built a small shelter and find drinkable water. She can steal, though she's never had to, and she is quick enough to outrun a huge number of people.

All those skills aren't helpful now, surrounded by seven grown men, soldiers trained by Miles himself. They're also traitors who want the general's niece for leverage. They're low-ranked, so Charlie doesn't really expect much, but they have her backed in an alley with little to aid her and no way out.

It's been a month since she came to live with Miles, and the news of her identity came to light just yesterday. The generals had tried to keep her a secret, but being the two most famous people in the city, it hadn't worked for long.

"C'mon, sweetheart," the leader says, offering his hand. Her crossbow is in the other, and she feels naked without it. She'd let her guard down and allowed him to disarm her. Her parents had instilled vigilance in her from an early age, but Philly had felt so safe compared to the exposed towns she's lived in, even with an army training and growing visibly throughout the city.

Charlie steps back, hitting the wall behind her, only a foot left between her and the rebels. "Back off," she glares, and the men laugh in her face. Her fists are clenched, her eyes darting from side to side so she can find a way out. It's hopeless. Her only option is the drainpipe on her left, but they will catch her before she can climb high enough.

The man snatches her wrist and twist, making Charlie cry out and forces her to her knees. Another soldier offers the rope to tie her up, and it doesn't take long before her mouth is cover with cloth to keep her from shouting out for help. She struggles, she bites and kicks and punches, but she doesn't stand a chance.

"What's going on here?" It's Monroe, she would recognise his voice anywhere. He hasn't seen her yet, her form obscured by the soldiers.

"Nothing, sir," one of the three who'd been on the look-out says. He's a perfect liar, doesn't twitch, doesn't give anything away. Any hope that had been growing in Charlie dissipates quickly.

"Nothing, huh?" Monroe shakes his head, two majors behind him waiting for orders, "Then why are you three blocking the entrance for your buddies?" Good, he's suspicious. Maybe he can read people really well, and knows these soldiers are up to no good. Or maybe somebody saw them try to overpower her. Either way, the president isn't backing off.

Bass unsheathes his double blades. His majors follow his example, not bothering to call for backup even though they're outnumbered two to one. The traitors draw their weapons, knowing they've been found out. Charlie struggles to undo her bonds as her captor looks away to focus on his enemies. She forces herself into the corner, where she has the least likely chance to get hurt.

She wants to close her eyes, doesn't want to see this, wants to be back in the suite with Miles, had been meaning to ask him when Jeremy would return and when she could finally meet the man both generals talk so highly off.

But her eyes stay open, wider and wider as Monroe single-handedly tears through all seven soldiers. He manages to get them all to their knees, stab wounds in carefully non-lethal places, the hilt of his sword on their heads knocking two out, the remaining soldiers surrendering. The majors tie them up, others coming up to offer assistance at the commotion.

Bass only has eyes for her, falling to his knees and removing the cloth in front of her mouth. "Are you hurt?" he asks seriously, fingers working at the knots at her ankles and wrists without tearing his eyes away from her. She shakes her head, at loss for words.

Charlie knows that Miles and Monroe are fighters, but to see Bass actually fight was as incredible as it was frightening. He just took down half a dozen men and he is barely even out of breath. He doesn't seem concerned with what he just did at all, not bothering to look at how his soldiers take the traitors away.

"Did you kill them?" Her voice is annoyingly small. She feels small. All these things she can do, skills and abilities, and she was useless. Charlie has tried to be so much more than others, has had to be more. Still, it hasn't been enough.

"No," he reassures her dismissively, "I need to know whom they're working for and if there are others." The 'otherwise I would've' goes unsaid, but Charlie hears it clearly, and is bothered by it. Monroe puts so little value in life. She can trust that he'll protect her because she's Miles', but with nothing else. He is so morally loose that she gets nauseated when he and Miles talk battle strategies before the three of them retire to bed for the night.

Charlie gets up, batting away Monroe's assisting hands and grabbing onto the drainpipe for support. She breathes slowly, trying to calm herself down before she actually goes into shock or something. The last thing she wants is for Monroe to carry her all the way back home. "Where's Miles?"

Monroe glances away for the first time to see the traitors piled on a cart going for the cells. There's one major left waiting for him and further orders with Charlie's crossbow, but he turns his attention back to the girl. "He's overseeing the return of Jeremy's regiment, I was on my way to debrief when I saw Severide guarding a random alley with his goons. The guy has been on our suspected spy list for a while now, so I had to check it out. Good thing I did."

This should be the part where she thanks him, but she isn't feeling like it. Monroe is hardly her white knight in shining armour, not many honourable intentions to speak of. She doesn't particularly want to be the damsel in distress either.

"Jeremy is here," she deflects, perking up at the news, "Is he coming for dinner?" She mostly likes the people her uncle interacts with. They are interesting and always have adventures to tell. These people are like her own personal storybook, and Jeremy has known her uncle and Bass the longest from all the citizens of Philadelphia.

Bass sees right through the manoeuvre, but allows it and nods. Truthfully he's excited to see his friend again as well. It has been months since Jeremy took the regiment to Georgia when they were threatening a full-out war again. A lot of the soldiers are still there, but he and Miles had decided they'd need their friend closer to home, especially with Charlie around. They need somebody they can trust with the girl, with her safety, health and happiness, and there is nobody the two of them trust more.


	6. Chapter 6

"Monroe?" Charlie asks as they walk back to Independence Hall together. His bodyguards have been left behind at the scene, apparently not all that necessary in the first place. They'd have to corner the president with ten well-trained men to even consider winning. Even then his attackers would still have a bigger chance at losing. To think that Miles is even a better fighter is something Charlie can't quite wrap her head around.

"What is it, Charlotte?" Monroe shoots back impatiently, high on adrenaline and unable to release the tension that accompanies it. He feels on edge in his own city, every soldier a suspect and the blood on his swords the steady reminder of the increasing lack of his own safety, and most importantly Miles'. The attacks have been increasing in number, the amount of casualties growing with it. His ribs ache, most likely severely bruised from the sword hilt Severide tried to jam into his heart. Good thing the idiot still hasn't learned to use the pointy end of his weapon.

The girl grabs his arm and forces him to a standstill, waiting for him to meet her eyes as she puts on her sweetest facade. "Could you not tell Miles what happened?" she requests, not expecting for Bass to snort, shake his head, and laugh at her. He does just that, shrugging her hand off his arm and continuing their walk just a little bit faster, waiting for her to catch up.

"First of all," he starts, glancing down at Miles' niece with increasing amusement, "What makes you think he doesn't already know? After all, we weren't exactly subtle with the arrests and at least two men went looking for Miles right away when they noticed we were both involved. Second; I don't keep secrets from Miles, definitely not when it concerns your safety. He would skin me alive if I did."

The question was rhetorical, but Charlie protests anyway. "Look, I like my freedom, and Miles is gonna be all overprotective and I'll get a bodyguard and I won't be allowed out as much and I just don't want things to change." She says this all with one breath, her hands still shaking and her tone turning to desperate. Charlie needs her freedom like she needs air. She cannot stand the thought of a babysitter and the constant supervision. The idea alone is enough to make her feel claustrophobic.

It's outdoors where she feels most at home. It is the places where she can see the star-littered sky that she feels at peace. She has to keep moving, otherwise she will be trapped. Trapped in her own mind like her father, ignorant of the world around him. Like her mother, drowned in work just so she doesn't have to think about what could have been. Like her baby brother, whose illness has left him vulnerable to anything and everything beyond the four walls of their house.

Bass hears the tremble in her voice, the subtle shake of her hands as her fear increases to panic, her breathing getting harsher as he stays silent and considers her words. Charlie carts a hand through her tangled curls, a move she copied from Miles not long after she arrived. He can see the gears in her head turning, an escape plan forming. He stops her before she can come up with something. "Not his style, kid. Don't worry so much. You're old enough to wander around the city if you want to." Some combat classes and an extra concealed weapon or two and she is good to go. Locking her up is no way of keeping her safe, Bass would know, he tried it often enough with Miles. His friend only gets into more trouble.

His reassurance seems to calm her somewhat, though her shoulders stay tensed for the remainder of their walk. Miles greets them at the steps, his arms circling around Charlie, his chin resting on her curls. "Glad you're okay, kid," he whispers, his eyes flickering to Bass to make sure they're both unharmed. His best friend nods and walks inside, gesturing for them both to follow.

"Where's Baker?" Bass asks Miles as they take their usual seats in the suite. The generals sit on the luxurious chairs facing each other and Charlie perches on her uncle's armrest even though there is another empty chair forming a triangle. As far as Charlie has been able to tell, it is Jeremy's.

"Guess," Miles snorts, unstacking newly washed tumblers and pouring some alcoholic concoction into three of them. The men both grab one, and Charlie is reaching for the remaining tumbler when Miles pokes her in the side. Charlie squeaks, loses her balance and flails as she heads towards the ground, her hands already positioned to catch her fall. Her uncle's reflexes save her, a strong arm catching her around the waist and pulling her back. She lands across his lap, her head bouncing on the other armrest. Charlie glares up at him, but stays put as Miles sips from his glass.

Monroe watches them with a raised brow and an amused smirk. He waits until they're done messing around before he answers confidently. "Taking a hot bath, with company." He rolls his eyes at the predictability of his favorite captain. Then again, they all have their rituals for home-coming. Jeremy might not be all that original, but he is dedicated to the few hours of free time he gets between his briefing and the celebratory dinner for his safe return.

"He should be here any minute," Miles says, swirling around the oddly colored liquid but not actually drinking from it. He almost spills half his glass when the double doors to their suite bang open and Jeremy strides inside with a satisfied grin and a dramatic bow. Behind him, the guards hasten to shut the doors again while the captain, newly clean and wearing a brand new uniform, immediately turns all his attention to the girl who is looking at him upside down from Miles' lap with curiosity.

"So the rumors are true," Jeremy says, mostly to himself. He half-circles Miles' chair to get a good look at Charlie, who watches the generals' friend with rapt attention. He's never ever considered Miles as a parent. The captain was forced to consider a daddy Monroe when Shelley got pregnant, and back then it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world, knowing how much stock Bass put into family. After she and the baby died, neither of them would ever really be father material of the year again.

Baker throws himself in the third chair, his, and notices that the girl hasn't bothered to move, still unarmed and vulnerable. She feels powerful here, at home, and thinks him no threat. He's kind of insulted, but he hadn't expected any different. He knows what it's like to be under the full protection of the generals. It's invigorating and their collective egos rub off on you within the week.

"There's actually a living and breathing mini version of Miles in Philly." He grins and tips an imaginary hat at Charlie, "Captain Jeremy Baker, it's a pleasure." Charlie looks incredulously at the man that's so very different from Miles and Monroe that it's almost not funny. She pushes herself up on her elbows. "Charmed?" she hesitantly replies with suspicion in her tone. Bass laughs loudly, and Miles snickers.

"Yup," Jeremy nods, "I see the resemblance clear as day." He snatches his glass from the side table and throws it back in one go, keeping a straight face even when he really, really wants to pout as he remembers good quality whiskey. "Please tell me she doesn't have your sense of humor," he says, moving his eyes to Miles and then Bass, "or yours."

Charlie grins. "I like him," she states, and wipes the grins off the generals' faces and puts one on the captain's. It's the beginning of a beautiful friendship.


	7. Chapter 7

Philadelphia isn't ready for a teenage Matheson.

Charlie age twelve had been a problem, disruptive, adventurous, inquisitive. She's spied, participated in Militia training without permission, fought with other kids, been kidnapped, fallen off a roof, rang the watchtower alarm when there was no danger and mouthed off against anyone and everyone that tried to convince her to respect higher ranked officers.

At age thirteen she'd seemed to calm down, retreating to Independence Hall and reading through Bass' vast collection of books, not even injured once, always letting her uncle know where she was and not interrupting during the nightly strategy meeting between the generals.

One year later, those same generals discovered that Charlie's investigations throughout the city had prompted her to find out about the secret passage in the library that led to a safe house in case someone needed to get away in a hurry. By then she's been using it for over eighteen months; trading in the wonders of the city for the peace and quiet in the forests. Her mandatory combat lessons have done wonders, but they are nothing compared to her increasing skill with her crossbow.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Miles paces across the library, not even looking at his niece. Charlie is on her reading chair, following her uncle with her eyes, not feeling the least bit guilty.

Jeremy is there too, accompanying Miles as they went to get her. He's leaning on the back of her chair, his chin on her head as he copies her movements. Miles is busy muttering to himself, more or less ignoring the other two.

"He doesn't even care that you went, you know," Jeremy whispers, trying to avoid the general's attention "He cares that you lied to him."

Charlie snorts. "He's just mad he didn't notice I've been omitting some details. It wasn't even lying technically." she doesn't bother with being quiet. The hatch is still open, but as Miles passes it, he kicks it shut, the metal clanging shut with a god-awful sound.

He has apparently heard her, and turns furiously to face her. "I'm going to the library, you said," he growls, his grip clenching around the hilt of his sword, "I am fine, Miles, you said," he doesn't even bother imitating her voice or tone, that's how furious he is.

"I just didn't stop at the library," Charlie shrugs, and Jeremy quietly groans behind her and bends his knees, hiding from the gaze the general suddenly turns to the occupant of the chair.

"Instead, you went out to the forest, where you predictably tried to take down a war clan. What were you thinking? Didn't we teach you anything? Back-up, extra weapons, provisions. You barely got away."

It's almost cute, Jeremy thinks as he peeks over the top of the chair. The only reason Miles is actually mad is because she'd gotten some bruises before she escaped. He's gotten so attached to the girl in just two years that he can't imagine anything happening to her.

Any other authority figure would have told Charlie that she was too young, too inexperienced, but they're not Miles. He knows like no other that stereotyping Charlie will make her fight back, while this way will make her fight harder and better, will allow her to survive this new world. "It was hardly a clan, and I was taking their weapons, not trying to kill them head on," Charlie retorts. Their argument grows louder.

Bass chooses that moment to enter, dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans, looking like he was dragged out of bed, his curls a huge mess and his eyes half shut. The guard who'd alarmed him races away, experienced enough with these situation that he knows he wants to be on the other side of the building.

"I miss coffee," the president states, a yawn escaping his lips as he takes in the scene of his captain in hiding and two arguing Mathesons. He spots the uncovered hatch and quickly figures out most of the story from that and the shouted words.

Charlie jumps from her seat to increase her height, snarling at her uncle while he glares silently. Monroe strides forward, pushes Charlie back into her chair with one hand, and shuts Miles up with a look.

"Can't you two do this at a normal hour? Sometime not past midnight, if at all possible," he says, rubbing his eyes to clear the remnants of his disturbed sleep. Charlie only just notices him as she is forced back into her seated position.

In two years this is the most unguarded she has seen him. Monroe looks tired, the bags under his eyes having turned from blue to purple sometime in the last few months. His curls haven't been tamed, his stubble is showing and his creased clothing can't hide it like his uniform apparently does. The absence of power shows the man, and she is captivated.

The fight forgotten, Charlie turns to Monroe, frowning at his appearance and glancing at the other men to figure out if they see it too. They don't.

"Are you alright, Monroe?" she asks, her head turned slightly to the right in consideration. The president's shoulders are slumped, his weight unevenly distributed to compensate for his bad knee. His eyes are red with a lack of sleep, suffering from the same insomnia her uncle does most days.

"Huh?" Bass grunts, almost confused as he registers the words. She repeats the question, and behind her Miles frowns with worry. Charlie might have been out most days, running rampant outside Philly's walls, but he's been beside Bass for almost every day. The change in his friend's health has been so gradual that he hasn't even noticed, but Charlie has. She doesn't see him as often, sometimes goes weeks without catching a glimpse of him. Because of that, it is glaringly obvious to her.

"Bass?" Miles says, laying a hand on his arm and drawing his attention. Monroe turns to his best friend, and suspects that they're in for a long talk.

Jeremy nudges Charlie and gestures to the door, wanting to give his friends some privacy, even though even he is concerned now. However, Bass will never share this with him or the girl, and it is better for everyone if the two of them give the others some time alone.

Charlie protests silently, but then shrugs and nods, sneaking out with Jeremy at her side.


	8. Chapter 8

Jeremy and Charlie close the door, ignored by the generals as the men started talking quietly, Miles' anger at Charlie gone from everybody's minds. The captain is making his way to the suite, under the impression that he is escorting Charlie to the place where she sleeps. He is at the end of the hall before he notices that she isn't with him.

He's been lost in thought. The revelation that Bass looks so sick and tired, and that they haven't even noticed the struggle of their best friend when Charlie saw it immediately; It's a hard thing to swallow. Jeremy can't get the sickly pale sheen of the president's skin and the loss of weight out of his head, so obvious once you've been told it's there.

"Come here," Charlie whispers from a nook in the wall, hidden behind one of those heavy decorative curtains. Jeremy frowns and follows her, squishing himself into the new hiding spot. He knows this one; It is a hidden weapon stash in case their enemies get as far as Independence Hall. Those things are hidden everywhere, curtsy of Miles, and he and Charlie have made it into a game to find as many as possible. Charlie is winning by eight points or so, as usual.

What he didn't know about this one, is that it is apparently also a great spot to overhear conversations in the library, the sound echoing to their position. He knows he should pull her away, get her to bed and not spy on his friends in what should be a private conversation. His natural lack of curiosity, his non-interest in going up Militia ranks, his usual loud disposition make him the worst spook their is. He likes dramatic entrances and head on, fair, battles. Silently watching is just not his thing. He likes ignorance up to a point, revels in it. He liked not knowing exactly how fucked up the world was and avoided news channels and papers like the plague. Similarly, he has no interest in knowing if it's gotten better or worse after the blackout.

Today though, the concern for his friends outweighs the majority of his personality traits, and so he follows Charlie's example and puts his ear to the thin, unisolated wall. "You're a bad influence, little Matheson," he whispers to the teenager, getting a pointy elbow in his stomach as response.

"It's nothing, Miles, don't worry so much. It's just a cold or something," Bass denies. They've obviously tuned in half-way through the conversation, but only missed the standard evasion and the first indicators of Miles' endless persistence when he wants to know something. The excuse Monroe gives is weak at best, and Jeremy can almost see the stony look Miles should be giving the president right about now.

"Really? That's what you're going with? A cold?" the oldest of the men challenges, his arms crossed and his stance intimidating. He has the advantage here, still running on the adrenaline of the scare Charlie gave him and clothed in his Militia uniform where Bass is fresh out of bed in baggy clothes, caught completely unawares.

"It's none of your business, so let it go and go to bed. I know I am." Bass turns around and tries to walk away, but is stopped by his best friend's iron grip on his bicep. He turns around and snarls, suddenly mad and alert. Miles, who knew this was coming, who purposefully tried to draw out this reaction, knows to let go and step back, ready for either a verbal or physical attack.

"The Republic is falling apart around us, and you haven't even noticed." The accusation is whispered, and Charlie strains to hear it, her eyes narrowed. "The only reason Georgia retreated is because they are trying to destroy us from the inside out." Monroe shakes his head, trying to clear it, trying to keep his thoughts to himself even as the frustration and secret pour out.

"All they are doing is handing out those useless American flags, and all those idiots out there are deciding to fight for an utopia that had been tried and un-true. We are getting stabbed in the back at every corner and they are getting closer and closer to you!" Bass can't even look at him, turning away again, but this time heading for the windows, observing the change of guards and the steady patrol as the last civilian head home.

The truth of the matter is so very simplistic, but at the same time terrifying to Charlie. She's suspected for years, kept an ear out for any signals that she was right, and today her point will be proven. President Monroe of the Monroe Republic, General of its Militia, doesn't care about his empire or it's people at all. The only thing he is concerned with is the safety of his family, and that's not even a handful of people. Frankly, she has a feeling that even Jeremy pales in comparison to Miles.

She rests her forehead on his neck, a gesture of comfort even when he has no idea yet why. Jeremy is so riveted by his friends that he hardly even notices the added pressure. The captain is down to earth, more so than anyone else she's ever met. Charlie has an inkling that he knows he'll never get between these two, and he's never even seemed to mind.

Miles is stumped as he looks at Bass, the words harsh and cruel, but ringing true. His focus has always been supposed to be on the Militia, while Bass takes care of the city and the people. But until now, apparently, they have always shared everything. "You've been keeping this a secret? Why?" He places a hand on his friend's shoulder, but Monroe shrugs it off.

"Because I failed! They're after you!" Bass shouts, admitting what he now sees as his greatest failure. It's been eating away at him, the growing amount of rebels targeting Miles specifically according to their own spies. It is funny, but the people are more afraid of Miles than they ever will be of Monroe.

Miles is the figurehead of the Militia, when the people see him, they fear him as a warrior. He is the man at the head of an army, blood on his swords as he tears through enemies. The butcher of Baltimore. Monroe in comparison is the public figure, the charming man who delivers the speeches, the president who gave them a home and food and safety. They don't see the darkness like Charlie does. They think he is more or less harmless. They're wrong.

Monroe seems to notice that Miles is still at a loss for words. Regretful, he calms down some, meeting his friend's eyes and sighing. "I don't care about the Republic, I only went along with your plan because it was the best way to protect you. We were supposed to be safe in Philly. You were supposed to be okay. We would never be outnumbered, never without food or medicine," he tries to explain. Miles isn't convinced, and neither is Charlie from her hiding spot. His next words, however, break what is left of Miles cracked heart; "After Shelley and," Bass trails off, tears slipping down his face. Miles sighs, understanding dawning a few years late, and envelops his best friend in his arms.

"Who is Shelley?" Charlie asks Jeremy, pulling him away from the nook and drawing him out into the hallway. She's heard enough, and is now brimming with questions that she knows Jeremy will answer. To her surprise, he hesitates.

"I'm not sure I should tell you, mini-Miles," he says, more serious than she's ever seen him. He is tense with stress, his posture pure soldier as he fights with this new information. There are so many reasons to stay out of this, to keep this piece of Bass' past a secret from the girl. But then he considers the other side, he considers his own regiment, the men Monroe confesses he doesn't care about at all. His friends, men whose lives he has saved and who saved him in return. Their wives, with whom he never hesitates to flirt. The kids he's played tag and hide-and-seek with, just to have some fun in this war-ridden world.

He has a lot to lose if Monroe cracks any further than he already has. Miles is so emotionally repressed that he has no chance of getting Bass back out of the pit, not when he's half in it himself. Jeremy can't do a thing either. Bass might be his friend, but Monroe has never trusted anyone but Miles with his perceived weaknesses. Not after all the pain he's gone through, and all the times his trust has been shattered.

Charlie might be the one person in the world who has an opening she can work with. He's said it himself; she is practically a female Miles, but without all the damage, and with enough disrespect that she treats the president as little more than human. Bass might give her the benefit of the doubt just because of her last name. And Charlie, with her resources and stubbornness can save the generals and their Republic.

The girl in question remains silent, familiar enough with her friend to know that this is not the moment to push. If she waits, he might change his mind, if she tries to convince him, he'll do the opposite just because. They get to the suite, and Jeremy heads straight for the bottle, a bad habit he learned from his friends. He throws himself into his chair and Charlie seats herself in Miles' usual spot.

"A few years after the blackout Bass met Shelley," he starts quietly, his eyes are on her, but his focus is on the hallway behind the closed door. Bass will kill him for ever telling this, so he can never know. "She was this beautiful woman, kind and generous and far to good for the likes of us." He snorts, a hint of jealousy in his voice. "We traveled as a group, the safest way back then, until we found Shell got pregnant." The nickname is laced with the admiration Jeremy had for this woman, and the admiration he still has for the miracle of childbirth.

"We decided it would be better for her if we stayed in one place, find a midwife and a home for the girl. Miles wasn't leaving their side, and I didn't want to be alone, so I went too." Charlie has, by now, figured out that Shelley somehow died, and that the baby didn't make it either. She sort of understands Monroe a little better already, and also knows why Miles was so quick to let it go just a few minutes ago.

"We found this fugitive camp near Georgia, but at the last stages of her pregnancy the food got scarce and the medicine were short on supply and more expensive than we could hope to afford." He shakes his head, ashamed, wishing he could have done more. "I was trying to get more money when she went into labor, got there just in time to see Bass come out the tent, covered in blood, the happiest day of his life his biggest nightmare. He lost his second family that day."

Charlie can feel the tears in her eyes, just short of falling. She may not like or trust Monroe, but this is too painful to put into words. "Second?" she questions to distract herself, not expecting that the story can get any worse. She's wrong of course.

"Before the blackout, his parents and sisters all died in the same car crash." Charlie bites her lip to stop her gasp, her nails digging into the arms of the chair. her knuckles white. "Miles helped him through it. He never told me the whole story, but I gathered Bass was never the same after that. All he's ever been able to rely on was Miles, and now he's scared to death that he's going to lose him as well." Jeremy has never understood that until now, not until Bass finally explained.

"What happened?" Charlie knows this is not the end of the story, and that there is a lot more she needs to know.

"You heard him," Jeremy says, glancing at the door to make sure the generals are still in the library and out of hearing distance, "He was," he corrects himself, "-is willing to do anything and everything for Miles. We had no food, so he took a few men and took all his rage out on the camp a few miles from ours," he shrugs, considering leaving out his own involvement in the carnage. "I saw him kill for the first time, as effortlessly as Miles even though I'm not even sure he'd ever taken a life before."

It had been Jeremy's first kill that day at least, a moment he'd never forget. It hadn't even been all that monumental, more instinctual. The only revelation he had that day was that murder is not all that bad for your soul if you do it right, and that the rules of society had been constricting. He doesn't mind death and destruction as much as he should, unless it is people he's grown to care about. In the end, that's true for most people, he thinks philosophically.

"We slaughtered everyone there and took the supplies. All the fugitives in our camp were so grateful for the food and stuff that they didn't want to know how we'd gotten it. Bass took over Miles' idea to start a Militia like the ones we saw everywhere, and within the year we had an army. All that just so Bass could protect and supply for the one person he can't live without." The laugh he ends with is bitter and laced with reluctant admiration. Miles had written off the flattened fugitive camp against the lives Bass had saved in theirs. Not his best moment, but hardly his worst. The Monroe Republic has saved more lives than it has snuffed out if the calculations are correct.

"Monroe won't stop at anything," Charlie says, only a hint of uncertainty in her voice. Her eyes are dry, the sympathy cancelled out by the second part of the story, though she can't judge the president without condemning her uncle as well. A man with nothing to lose is reckless, a man with much too lose is careful, a man with only one thing to lose is the most dangerous of all.

That darkness that lingers in Monroe, that she's noticed from the beginning, the hint of madness that she saw as her fought his way through half a dozen men to her, coupled with what she now knows; it scares her.

"You were the first one to see it." Jeremy sees her open her mouth, but is quick to shut her up before she can start. "Don't deny it, Matheson, you've never been subtle about the fact that you don't trust him at all." Charlie nods in acknowledgement.

"If the rebels are really coming, we're all in danger," he holds her gaze, a captain more in that moment than a friend, "I need you to do everything you can to get us all through the next couple of months. American Patriots are the last thing we need right now. No sneaking out to the forest, eyes and ears out at all times. Can you do that?"

Had it been any other order, Charlie would have rebelled. Had it come from anyone else, she'd do the exact opposite. However, she is frighteningly aware of what's at stake, and so she nods.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N According to the timeline of the show, Charlie would be fourteen when a rebel bombs the restaurant where Miles and Bass are in an assassination attempt. Bass later kills the bomber's wife and kids, one of the reasons Miles decides to kill him. (You probably remember this ep XD) That's what this chapter is about, only in the Willingly Taken 'verse. Enjoy, more updates will follow soon(er than this one...)**

Charlie has no idea what she is supposed to be doing. She stops sneaking out, which is hardly a feat to be proud of, but after that she draws a blank. Jeremy didn't ask her to stop the rebels, he asked her to keep President Sebastian Monroe. She'd preferred the former.

Rebels are easy to deal with; you find them and you either talk them around or arrest them. That's it. Now that Miles is dealing with the problem as well, groups of them are brought in. Her uncle assigns the punishments, and Bass has been tasked with increasing the quality of life in the Republic now that Georgia has retreated temporarily. A diversion to get him to worry a little bit less and sleep some more.

Monroe on the other hand is a nightmare. She's free during the day, still no school and helping out sporadically here and there. Nobody expects her to come, though they're glad to see her when she does. She sees Bass almost every night, resuming their family dinners and attending the late night strategy meetings between the generals and the captain

The first day after she spoke with Jeremy and learned more about Bass and consequently Miles was a flop. She had planned to follow him around the city during her free time, only to find that he didn't leave his guarded office all day. She couldn't see what he was doing because she wasn't allowed past the soldiers. The only time he left was for lunch, and when she tried to follow him to the kitchens he spotted her before he turned the first corner.

No matter what Jeremy thinks, she can't do anything. Charlie might see the darkness, but she can't chase it away, doesn't know how. The most she can hope for is that Miles can keep Bass tamed if she informs him that it's getting worse.

So when Jeremy comes to find her, panic in his eyes, she knows that something is wrong. "Hurry, Charlie," he shouts from the doorway, and she doesn't hesitate; she shoots up from her chair, throws her precious 'Art of War' edition in the general direction of the table, and runs after her best friend.

"They're in the infirmary?" she yells as they sprint in the direction of Philly's hospital. It's the first thing that comes to mind, and the captain nods, his breathing getting laboured after running to get her while she is still going strong.

They burst through the doors, the guards aware that they should always let these two pass. Miles is on the nearest bed, a doctor and two nurses working on his wounds while Bass stands at the head, his hand resting on Miles uninjured shoulder. His bloody fingers are wrapped around the metal headboard, knuckles white with pressure.

His face is marred by small bleeding cuts from the shattered window that rained down on them when the explosion hit. His weight is resting on his left side, his right leg unable to take the pressure, but he seems in no hurry to get medical attention until he knows for sure Miles will be okay.

"What happened?" she demands, approaching the bed to see Miles conscious and grimacing as the doctor stiches him up. He looks like he suffered similar injuries to Monroe's, barring the gash in his side and a bump on his head that the nurse is poking at.

"Would you stop that?" Miles snarls at the woman impatiently, shaking her hand of and regretting moving his head as soon as he does. She looks unapologetic and presses a post-blackout cool pack against it for the swelling. Her uncle hisses and glares, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but the place he currently is.

"Miles!" Charlie snaps, garnering his attention and silencing him from further protesting. "Rebels tried to blow us up," he answers, his eyes glazy with a concussion, "they missed."

Charlie, happy to find her uncle still as unmoving, grumpy and generally Miles-ish as ever subtly turns her attention to Monroe, who doesn't notice her staring, his eyes locked on the gash that's almost closed.

What she sees makes a chill race along her spine. Sure, she'd noticed that the president was angry, so is she. Monroe though, he's not just angry, he looks murderously unhinged. His hands are stained with blood from where he tried to keep pressure on Miles' wound. Whatever is going to happen, it's not good.

Jeremy, who stands next to the president, a silent support and extra guard, only has concern for Miles. He has barely glanced at the other general, and won't see what is going on in time.

"I need some air," she lies, and her best friends perks up and gets to her side immediately, knowing that she is a huge target and cannot be left alone under any circumstances. He has to keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn't stray too far, and she uses it to her advantage.

She leads him away from the guards, makes sure they are alone and takes a breath. "Did you see that?" By the look on his face, he has absolutely no idea what she means.

"That gaping wound in Miles' side, you mean?" he asks with a biting tone, his patience frail now he has seen his friends wounded, now that the reality of their death is all that much closer, brought to the forefront of his mind.

"Monroe," she bites back, her fear for the man's actions overwhelming any concern she has for Miles, her uncle practically immortal in the safety of her own mind.

"What about him?" Jeremy asks, their recent conversation not really a priority at this point in time.

"Did you see the guy?" Charlie asks exasperated, "Someone tried to kill Miles in front of him," she says, but sees she is not getting through, "He's going to wipe everybody responsible off the chart, Jeremy!" she raises her voice, glancing to the side to check if there's anybody who noticed her little outburst.

"So?" the captain retaliates, seemingly not having that much of a problem with that, and it answers at least one question. Her uncle, Jeremy, Monroe, they all think that making an example of the attackers will make a difference and lessen the assassination attempts, while Charlie knows that it will only make the rebels more determined because they'll be proven right. The Republic will prove that they are relentless and cruel and people will long for a democracy for all the wrong reasons.

Of course she wants to see the rebels who bombed the restaurant dead. You don't live with two of the best killers in the world so easily if you are object against death with everything in your heart. What Jeremy doesn't seem to understand is that Monroe isn't going to stop with the bombers if the look on his face was any indication. He'll wipe out their friends, their families, their whole platoon if he feels there might be a single rebel among them. That's what she saw in Monroe just now.

"So?" the fourteen-year-old repeats, her fists clenching, "So?" she pushes Jeremy, hard, and he falls back, not having expected her to ever do that to him. "How can you be so blind!" and it's not even a question anymore at the end of her sentence.

She turns on her heel and leaves him stumped and gaping on the ground. Charlie doesn't think, doesn't let her own insecurities stop her as she makes her way to the bomb site, where everybody is heading.

She's too young and untrained and not at all respected, but that doesn't stop her. She approaches the scene to see the first bodies of innocent bystanders getting dragged from the rubble, families gathering to search for their loved once, children crying and men shouting.

Charlie finds what she is looking for without any trouble. A soldier surrounded, his gun pointed at the Major while his eyes dart around in search of a way out. The perpetrator is quiet, ignoring the negotiations and looking for something. Charlie suspects he is waiting for fellow rebels to get him out, but nobody lifts a hand.

The man is disarmed and grabbed, dragged to a cart and bound like a present for Monroe. They post two guard with him and the rest goes to contain the chaos and resume clean-up.

This is her chance, and she takes it. "General Monroe requests the presence of this man. He is to be taken to the cells," she says, her voice steady and her stance proud and confident. The guards recognize her and nod, having expected this order like she knew they would.

The elder soldier puts his gun at the bomber's back and gets him to his feet. "Walk," he orders, and the man does as he's told. They make their way through the crowd and he leads them to the cells, which are located in a remote area of the city.

With everybody investigating the bombing, the roads are clear. There is nobody around, the sound fading away with every step they take. Charlie tenses in anticipation.

The guards never see it coming.

She takes them out with two blows and has the gun in her hand and pointed at the bomber's neck before he can even think of running.


	10. Chapter 10

"What the?" her prisoner exclaims, turning around to face her, glancing at the two soldiers who are out cold. He has his hands in the air as a gesture of surrender. "You're Matheson's niece, aren't you?"

Charlie nods, taking the safety off the gun with a loud click. Fear shines in the man's eyes, and he steps back. "You tried to murder my uncle," she accuses, stepping back into the bomber's personal space. The girl enjoys the way he tries to back away again, only to find his toes pinned to the ground by the child's steel-toed boot.

"You have to understand," the man pleads, his cowardice showing. Bombs can make any man or woman feel brave and powerful, only ever facing their enemies from a mile away, watching death and destruction from a distance. They feel safe, untouchable. Charlie is making it clear to this one that he isn't. "Monroe and Matheson are dictators, cold-blooded killers. They keep taking everything and they give nothing back."

Charlie looks at him coldly, not bothering to contradict him when half of it is true and the other is hypocritical. She kicks his leg at the joint, and the man cries out, falling to his knees. She checks the abandoned road for people, but nobody is there, and they are hidden by the shadows and the twilight of the late hour.

His eyes water, his voice breaking as he keeps begging. "Please believe me, my sister and her husband had to give up all their crops until they had nothing left to eat. When they couldn't pay more, Militia took their sixteen-year-old daughter. My niece." He starts sobbing, tears rolling down his cheeks as he asks for mercy from a little girl with a gun.

Charlie grits her teeth. She knows these stories, hates them with passion. Ever since the Rebels started growing to numbers worthy of an army, there have been raids on the supply transport, taking away the Republic's food and clothes and weapons. Soldiers are getting restless, grabbing what they need and want, taking out their hunger and anger on defenseless citizens.

It's gotten better now both Miles and Bass are working on it together, but it is not enough. They can't keep an eye on every soldier, and there are a lot of bad apples, most of them among the higher ranked, allowing their men to ignore the law as they please.

"And you think life will be better without the generals? You think that the Republic will fall with their death? That there is no successor, no contingency plan? Don't be ridiculous," she snorts, and her prisoner snarls, not courage but foolishness spurring him on.

"Yes! Without them the rebels will rise, we'll bring back the United States of America, revolutionize this wasteland of a world." His speech is a repeat of every single one a captured rebel has given.

"The United States government fell for a reason. The system didn't work," Charlie retaliates. She's had this conversation before with Miles and Bass, a simple but useful practice in defending an opinion. The generals seem to delight in playing the Devil's advocate, and she feels challenged when arguing with two of the most strategic minds in the world.

However, she's not going to get into a discussion with her prisoner, that's not what she wants. "How does your wife feel about what you did?" she asks, despite not knowing for sure if he has a spouse or not.

"How did you know I have a wife?" he shouts in fear, trying to struggle to his feet and failing. He betrays himself, confirming her suspicion, and goes in for the kill.

"Listen to me very closely. The moment Monroe gets even a whiff of your name, he is going to kill you, your wife, any kids you have, and probably find your sister, your brother-in-law and your niece and execute them just to make an example."

The man shuts up and freezes, mouthing a single, inaudible "No." His eyes are wide open.

"You don't stand a chance," Charlie informs him, compassion fighting its way into her eyes, and she looks at him with pity. "He'll torture you and find out who you are and where you live. He will destroy so much more than just your family." Monroe will destroy his own in the process, and his while Republic with it.

She can see the wheels turn in his head as he tries to think of a plan. She already has one.

Hope conquers the fear in his eyes, and he looks up excitedly. "You could let me go," he suggests, "I'll get my wife and kids and we'll leave the city. You'll never see me again."

Charlie's face is blank. "Where do you live?" she asks him, and sees him smile.

"House number 24, right next to the butcher on the main street," he says relieved, finally getting back to his feet and turning away from her to lead the way.

He doesn't even see it coming.

The bullet shoots out of the barrel and races at the bomber's skull, impacting with a sickening crunch. Her prisoner drops like a sack of potatoes, the ghost of a smile still on his face.

Charlie lowers the gun and lets it drop to the ground, her hands shaking as she struggles to breath. She tries to inhale slowly, but her lungs protest and her throat refuses to cooperate. The lack of oxygen makes her light-headed, and soon she is swaying dangerously, her knees giving out and hitting the unyielding stone of the road.

She can barely control her movements as her trembling fingers cart through her hair. Her stomach is cramping badly, her oesophagus burning as she tries to keep herself from throwing up.

The girl crawls toward the body and pats it down, removing the man's possessions so he can't be identified, and then gets an old-school lighter from her pocket. She swallows back her nausea and flips it on. A small flame dances on the device. Charlie closes her eyes and lowers her arm, fire connecting with the fabric of the dead soldier's uniform.

She opens the container of lighter fluid and pours it on the man's face, making sure nobody will ever recognize him. The smell of burning flesh drifts over to her and with one last look, she takes off as fast as she can in the direction of Independence Hall, not allowing herself to think.

Nobody dares to stop her, so without any problem she gets through the secret passageway and doesn't stop moving until she is outside once again. She sags down against the nearest tree and curls her arms around her knees, trying to keep out the darkness forming at the edge of her soul. She fails.


	11. Chapter 11

"There is a body burning in the city. Anything you know about that?" Monroe asks, leaning against the door of the secret passageway, his stance relaxed and his stare cold as he looks at the girl.

Charlie is still curled around herself, her tears drying on her cheeks. Her eyes are red while her face is pale white. She is unarmed, vulnerable, and Monroe knows exactly what she just did. The danger presents itself loud and clear, so her survival instinct kicks in.

She straightens her back, ignores the state of her face and hair and clothes, and faces him head on, shoulders back and head held high. He is the reason she did this, she reminds herself. Monroe is the reason she had to shoot an unarmed and bound man in the back.

She doesn't know if she'll ever be able to forgive him for the actions she had to take in his place. "I know enough," she says, a challenging tone daring him to judge her.

"His name?" Monroe asks, the meaning hidden to any other but oh so clear to her. Her suspicions are proven right again, and she wonders if there is any part of Bass left in Monroe that can come back to the surface. If there is, it is no longer her job to reach him. Charlie's done enough, given the sacrifice, and she will not hand any other part of her over to him when he himself doesn't seem to want to change or revert back to how he used to be. Back to that glimpse of a man she saw beneath the power and the uniform and the insanity.

"No," she says simply, the anger and the fight gone from her. The actions she took today have taken it out of her, the realisation that there is not a thing else she can do, that it might have been for nothing, is not something she knows how to deal with.

She has never felt this helpless.

Charlie brushes past Bass back into the tunnel heading for the city. She'll need to get her crossbow and a bag with provisions before she can get out. The girl is old enough now to survive by herself, knows the right skills to get herself into adulthood until she can actually get a well-paying job. She could probably pass for eighteen in a few months, maybe sooner depending on the employers.

She doesn't need much. Hunting and gathering will get her food, she has enough clothes to last the year, and can trade in meat for new ones. A roof is optional and company is overrated.

She feels Monroe's fingers wrap around her upper arm, holding her back. He and Miles will keep a close eye on her for a while, probably try to prevent her from leaving, but they don't stand a chance. Jeremy will keep it up even longer, but they only have to look away for a minute, and she'll slip into the forest and easily disappear into the chaos of the various cities until they lose her trail.

"Charlotte," he chastises. He frowns when he sees the defeated look on her face. The fire that burned so bright, the passion, the temper, the fury, they're gone. For the first time since they found her by the river, he sees her show her weakness.

When he found her crying just now, she'd recovered admirably quickly and stood up for a fight. Suddenly, it seems like she couldn't care less.

Charlie, beneath the bright fire that is her personality, is an old soul carrying an unnamed burden with nobody to share it with. She has always powered through, but now she no longer seems to have any desire to. The infamous Matheson stubbornness has given up on her, and the sight is unnatural.

Bass suddenly realises that he did something wrong. She was just fine at the start of their four-sentence conversation, but a realisation had tripped her up. Something about him had done that.

He feels guilt without conscious knowledge of where it comes from.

The man lets go of her arm like the touch burns, and watches her walk away.


	12. Chapter 12

Bass snaps out of his daze and runs after Charlie. She's disappeared already, the tunnel echoing with his footsteps. The silence is eerie in the wake of his new knowledge. Charlie is unpredictable at the best of times, but in this state, she is capable of anything.

The thought scares him. If anything would happen to her, Miles would be devastated. Bass is man enough to admit right now that he would be as well. He no longer just tolerates Charlie or keeps her around for the leverage and advantage she offers. Sebastian sincerely likes her, respects her, enjoys her company. He trusts her, even where she definitely doesn't trust him.

The library is just as abandoned. If Charlie is running, he can't catch up with her. She knows the city better than he does, knows every single way in and out. Just like every other instance in his life, he is too late.

Charlie stands in front of the cozy home, the number twenty-four proudly displayed, the smell of the butcher nauseating to her already upset stomach. She takes in a deep breath and knocks rapidly three times. The wait is agonizing. It feels like hours when only seconds actually pass. She doesn't dare look anywhere but the wooden panels of the door; sure she will chicken out if she looks away.

A boy, no older than fourteen and already enlisted in the Militia going by his uniform, opens the door. He barely resembles his father. His hair is short and blond where his father's was darker and half-length. He is still short, a growth spurt or two away from his dad's six foot, and he is calm and collected where the bomber had been near deranged with panic.

"Can I come in?" she asks quietly, and understanding is already dawning on the boy's face. He knows as well as any soldier that a personal visit from an unknown soldier can't end well. If he knows her to be a Matheson or is part of the rebels, he doesn't show it. The boy doesn't look scared, just resigned to bad news.

He steps aside to let her through and calls for his mother and siblings; a girl of almost the same age, probably a twin, and on her hip a far younger brother descend the stairs, while the matriarch enters from the kitchen. "What can we do for you?" she asks, weariness in her eyes as she steps between the stranger and her children.

"Your husband was executed today after he set of a bomb meant to kill both the Generals," she delivers promptly and with little remorse or sympathy. Her tone might be soft, but her eyes are hard, no emotion leaking through because she can't allow herself to feel much of anything. The little family's reactions vary; the woman shakily collapsing into a plush armchair, her hand in front of her mouth as her eyes water, the boy stands stoically, his suspicions confirmed. His sister shakes her head in denial and draws her little brother closer in search for comfort. The boy doesn't seem to understand what is going on at all. Charlie continues ruthlessly, in a big hurry to finish this plan so she can pay her debt to Miles for taking her in by protecting Bass from himself one last time. After this, she is free and clear.

"He was supported by the rebels, but they failed to come to his aid once he was captured. His identity and your address are known only to me at the moment, but I do not doubt that they will find out who he was and where he lived. People will connect the dots between the unknown rebel and your husband's disappearance, and I fear they will come for you and take their revenge on your family. I am here to help you exit the city and bring you to a safe place."

The boy nods, and Charlie can't tell if he is a rebel and angry that his father failed without even succeeding, or if the kid is loyal Militia and angry that his father's action will cause him to retreat to an exile for the rest of his life. "Lizzie pack the bags upstairs, take as little as you can. Mom, go and gather all the food and money we have left, starting over is not going to be easy." A boy stepping into the role of man of the house with this much easy must have seen this coming from miles away. He obviously has a contingency plan in place and is keeping his head cool. Charlie can almost admire the kid for his sheer power of will to stay calm and collected.

Once the others are out of earshot, the kid turns to her. "You're Charlie Matheson, right?" he asks quietly, and she can only nod in confirmation. She doesn't want to talk to this guy, doesn't want to know what hopes and dreams she is taking away. The less she knows the better anyway. If Bass seriously wants to get this family on his chopping block, she won't be able to resist his interrogation for long, not with Miles incapacitated.

"You're no rebel. So why help us?" he inquires, and she sees that he is not scared of being found out, nor jumpily waiting for a squat to storm the house. Charlie is certain that he is not a rebel, and that eases her mind about the whole situation. His father's actions are not something this soldier is going to repeat. She will not regret saving him and his family.

"Selfish reasons," she replies, not willing to share anything more. If the kid finds out she killed his father, he might not be friendly, no matter how much he disagreed with the man and his ideology. She can't give him any ammunition at all.

The boy nods and turns away to fill up a bag for the road. Charlie waits in silence for half an hour as they gather up their most prized belongings and gather at the door. The youngest boy is sleeping, and his mother carries him with practiced easy while also weighed down by a backpack filled to the brim with edibles. It is easy to exit the city among the traders and soldiers. With a steady pace and no bag big enough to smuggle anything worthy of searching them for, they get through the main exit of Philly with no stops at all.

Once outside she gives the boy a note. "Go here," she says, pointing at the address written in neat script, "ask for Nora and tell her that I might be coming soon."

"I'm not a rebel," he whispers harshly, and Charlie takes a moment to admire his fierce loyalty when his father had obviously not been the one to teach him.

"Tell her so and she won't force you to take any action against the Republic. She'll relocate you and move on. Also, let her know that if she had any hand in making that bomb, she might want to run and hide with you."

On that note, Charlie turns back to the Philly gates, not waiting to see if the bomber's family is going to thank her or resent her for her actions.

She has her own escape to plan.


	13. Chapter 13

The first time she flees is just hours after she brings the traitor's family to safety. She gathers supplies and makes her way back to the city border, ready to spend at least a month in the woods to escape the search parties Miles will probably send after her. Miles takes about an hour to find her.

"I taught you everything you know, kid," he says from his position right above her, a grim smile on his face as he wakes his sleeping niece, "Hiding from me is going to take a lot more work."

He doesn't really expect her to draw a knife and point at him. "Stay away from me, Miles," she warns, and the hint of a smile on her uncle's face fades as he sees the panic in her eyes. She is still in shock from the actions she forced herself to take that afternoon. Miles doesn't know how to help her, not when he so abysmally failed with Bass.

He holds up his hands where she can see them, trying to look like he is not a threat, but aware that Charlie knows that he can be so quick the gesture does not matter. Even though he is sincere, she doesn't trust him, and that hurts more than he can put into words.

"Where is Monroe?" she asks, secure in the knowledge that one general never strays far from the other, especially since her uncle is injured. She'll have to run, but leave all her supplies behind in the process. It will limit her severely, especially when her head-start is non-existent. If Monroe is at least a few hundred yards out, she'll be able to make her escape. Miles is wounded and won't be able to keep up with her in the forest. She is fully in flight-mode, and the strain it has already taken on her body is overwhelmed by the strain on her young mind.

"Bass," Miles puts emphasis on the first name, "was just behind me. He means you no harm, Charlie. Neither do I." He reaches out slowly, but knows right away that it is a mistake. Charlie lashes out with the blade, which he dodges only barely. His stitches stretch and tear with the move, and he falls to his knees in pain. Charlie uses the opportunity to escape her bedroll and run south, not noticing her feet are bare and suffering on the forest ground.

Out of nowhere, she crashes into solid mass. Charlie fights to get away from it, but arms restrain her with a gentle grip. Sebastian Monroe has her trapped, mind, soul, and now body. "Let me go!" she screams, wild like an animal. She tries to land a blow but cannot find the angle. "Charlotte," Monroe whispers, his voice soft and unheard over the wind and the suffering sounds coming from her own throat. Monroe doesn't raise his voice, doesn't tighten his grip, but remains steady and calm as he repeats her name.

"Tell me what you need, Charlotte," he says, lowering her to the ground so her feet can't reach back and kick his legs out from beneath him. "What do you want?"

The question goes unanswered as Charlie gives in to the call of oblivion.

They do not speak of it when she wakes back in her own bed. Monroe will not look her in the eyes, Miles will not stop hovering, and Jeremy asks to be send to his old post at the border for a while so he won't have to see or speak to her at all (the request is denied). They are all dealing with the guilt their own way, and it does nothing to help Charlie at all.

So she leaves again months later, just past her birthday. She leaves the supplies this time but takes her favorite horse. The guards attempt to hold her back at the gate, but she gallops through and onto the fields. She pushes her faithful steed further than she should, but knows she is alone for the night.

The couple at the tavern let her stay in the room above for a cheap price. She sleeps fitfully surrounded by strangers, her locked door feels like a mocking of safety. But her environment is clear of guilt for the night, and that gives another kind of peace. One burden less.

Jeremy finds her mid-morning. He is drinking when she descents the stairs, and by his look it is not the first. He might very well have been there all night, consuming pint after pint. She sits down across from him.

His eyes are glazed over. It would be child's play to escape his presence. But she wants to listen to what he has to say.

"I thought I knew you, that there was nobody who knew you better than I. But that is a lie, isn't it? When you needed me the most I didn't listen, I didn't understand. You did as I asked, and I condemned you for it. I'm sorry, mini-Miles."

He looks pathetic from his seat on the booth. She does not want to hold on to her anger. Doing so will only condemn her to Monroe's faith, and that is the one thing she is really running from. Their influence has tainted her honor and her morals. She has shot a man in the back in the name of the Republic.

They return to Philly with not another word spoken between them. More months fly by with little change either way. She keeps leaving, they keep finding her within twenty-four hours no matter how much they have on their to-do lists.

For her, this game of hide-and-seek is an escape. When she hurts so much that breathing feels impossible, after she has to walk past the site where she killed her first, or goes by the butcher. Like Bass won't meet her eyes, she cannot meet his.

For the generals and their captain it is a reminder that they go too far and need to take a step back.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Miles?" Charlie questions her uncle, a dangerous edge to her voice.

The general freezes in the middle of assembling the revolver, one last check to make sure it won't jam at the one moment it shouldn't. "I thought we were getting better," he whispers, shoulders hunched as he leans on the table, the chair creaking with movement. He doesn't bother with lying, Charlie knows him too well for that. They are so much alike.

But they aren't getting better. It's been four years since Charlie first ran, and there is no time for improvement. If anything, the Republic has been getting worse. Texas and Georgia are pooling resources to keep their whole south border busy, while rebels keep creeping through the gaps from the Planes in the west. With the whole Militia on the defensive, priorities are more quantity than quality of life. Safety in numbers. A hundred underfed villagers are a better defense than ten trained soldiers...unless one of the is a general of course.

The taxes are going up, the protests growing, patrols thinning, crime rates are rising and meanwhile they are loosing more land than they can regain on campaigns. Crops failed last year, and they barely made it through the winter, which was harsh up north.

"So who're those bullets meant for? You shooting and running? Or shooting and shooting?"

"Hadn't gotten that far yet," Miles grins self-deprecatingly, snapping the last piece in place. He looks horrible, underfed and like he hasn't slept in days. Charlie has watched her uncle fall into the bottom of the bottle. She has surreptitiously taken over the tasks he's let slide now that he spends most of the day drunk on the worst things he can ingest.

His eyes are glazed over, and today does not seem to be an exception to the growing alcoholism. Sure they've always drank much, splurging on whiskey and bourbon; the good stuff. Now though, Miles can barely stand, trying to numb the depression, but feeding it instead.

"Revolver," Charlie muses, "six bullets." She'd seen him load all of them. If he was just going to shoot himself in the head, he wouldn't have bothered with more than one. "Monroe getting one? Or me?"

Miles can't get his hands away from the gun quickly enough. He gets up from his chair and doesn't know if he wants to reach for Charlie or get as far away as possible for his niece. "I'd never hurt you, kid," he reassures her.

"But Monroe is fair game?" she snorts, circles the room so she can snatch the revolver off the table and holsters it in her belt. Charlie turns to face Miles with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow. "Let's be honest here uncle Miles," she registers that he flinches at the title, just like she intended. "If you can put a bullet in your best friend's head, you can put one in mine too. Especially when you're too out of it to tell the difference."

"Charlie," he sighs, not wanting to listen.

"Miles," she repeats in a mocking tone of voice. She grabs his chin with long fingers, while he hasn't even realized she moved across the room. "Who have you been talking to? This can't be your idea. There are maybe two options I can think of, and you should really know better than to listen to either of them."

"Charlie," now he hesitates. He knows his mind is clouded by booze and his reaction time slower than a new recruit's. Miles is pretty sure he should be doing something to stop Charlie from her informal interrogation, but she's been trained by him, and is taking every single advantage she can.

"If you'd found mom, we would know, so it has to be Nora." Miles meets her eyes for just a second before looking back down, an admittance of guilt to the young woman who knows him so very well. "Really, Miles? You let yourself be convinced by a pretty face that you should kill Monroe to save the Republic? How drunk were you?"

Charlie looses her temper when he practically starts fading in and out of consciousness in her grip. She removes her fingers from his chin and slaps him on the cheek. Hard. "She made the bomb that almost killed the both of you a few years ago! Until you are useful to her, she doesn't judge you any higher than collateral damage. Until you are on her side, you are expendable, a weapon to be used. She can't love you when you are everything she is against."

She throws her hands up in the air and makes a frustrated noise that sounds like a growl. "Wow," she exclaims when she barely gets a reaction, the blank and absent stare more infuriating than the quiet resignation he'd shown earlier. "Maybe talking to Bass will sober you up," she mutters, and storms out only to let Monroe walk in.

"At least have the decency to tell me why? How could you, Miles?"


End file.
